Only Sleeping
by bookworm835
Summary: There were only two left. All the others were gone, dead. But when an odd force lures them into the jungle, one will come back not quite the same. And the only thing that she could do was treat him like the enemy. Character death (duh)! CC Please R&R!


**Title:** Only Sleeping  
**Author:** bookworm835  
**Rating: **PG-13 (hey, what's with this new rating system, anyways?)  
**Category:** Angst/Tragedy  
**Summary:** There were only two left. All the others were gone, dead. But when an odd force lures them into the jungle, one will come back not quite the same. And the only thing that she could do was treat him like the enemy. Warning: Character death (duh)! CC Please R&R!  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Lost, I'm making no money; I don't own Lost, not even Sawyer's bunnies... LMAO, that was really, _really_, REEEEEALLY stupid. I blame the caffiene... Yes, indeed, this is a caffiene-driven fic. Just finished my fifth soda for today. Mmm. You have been warned.  
**A/N:** Sniffle Sad (hopefully) one-shot. Despite the happy high of coke (LOL) I have been feeling rather sad myself. Ah well... writing makes me more cheerful but perhaps that's not a good thing with this depressing fic. I'm using this story as an excuse to procrastinate from doing my homework so it might not be my best work. Terrible word choice. I'm too lazy to get out the dictionary/thesaurus. Ehem, anyhoo ( stupid word! DIE, ANYHOO!)... cough cough And, yeah, this IS another "only-the-author's-ships-are-alive-and-everyone-else-has-died" fic... I apologize... Lots of death! This is obviously CC, though I don't think the words "Claire" or "Charlie" were mentioned anywhere 'cept the very end... but you can TELL... Well, finally I'll shut up ONWARD...

* * *

That's it. They were the last, the only ones left. Her and her love. Her and her bittersweet faded star. No one else. The others were dead. Many had died from a mysterious island disease that could kill a man in a day... or less. Others had caught the "sickness" that the French woman Danielle Rousseau had spoken of, and killed their friends before killing themself. 

Sayid had been the first to catch this traitorous "disease". He murdered Shannon and Hurley. Boone killed Sayid for taking the life of his stepsister. Then Boone killed himself. Treacherous revenge had claimed them.

Jack, Kate, and Sawyer had wandered out into the jungle and never came back. No one ever found them, or even their bodies. They just... disappeared. Though, sometimes, the others could swear that they could hear their fearful whisperings, and every once in a while they could hear Kate choking out, "_One, two, three, four, five..._" Five seconds for the fear to take them over... but the fear had claimed them now, for always and forever.

Michael had finished his raft. Walt hadn't the heart to burn it down again after his father had stared at the makeshift boat with such pride shining in his eyes. He had managed to make it bigger and better than the raft before it had been. Michael, Walt (flanked by his yellow lab), Sun, Jin, and a few strangers that that Michael did not even know the name of. They had bribed Michael. Everyone had to bribe him to take them aboard... except Walt and Vincent, of course, and, surprisingly, Sun and even Jin. Michael promised the others that he'd row ashore and get help for them all, first thing. As the others watched his little raft drift off into the distance, they saw something suddenly rock the float violently to one side, then the other, again and again until finally the whole thing tipped. No one made it back to shore. Whatever had knocked them had claimed them as well.

Locke's most recent death left the rest rather shaken up. No one expected John Locke, of all people, to die. Of course, that was a silly thing to think, but everyone seemed to label Locke immortal. He knew all there was on the island, it seemed, yet he too was taken. No one knew how... although, before Boone had commited suicide, he had mentioned something about a mysterious hatch and a dark secret. Nothing more. The darkness had claimed Locke, the master of the island.

It showed them all that the island was a traitorous thing, not to be toyed with.

And everyone kept being picked off slowly, one by one at times... Other days, dozens would die a day. It was rather peculiar that the two that survived were a sickly girl (she used to be pregnant) and an ex-druggie who had escaped death more than once now.

With everyone gone, including the doctor, the girl's baby had perished the night it was born. The girl had been heartbroken. The birth had taken what seemed like an age, though it was probably only a few hours at most. He had apologized repeatedly but she'd always assure him that it wasn't his fault. He told her that he'd protect her, even if he couldn't protect her precious child.

She sobbed in his arms, burying her face in his neck, trembling from sadness and fright.

"Everyone's gone," she said in a croaky voice. Their water supply had been running low. The island, angry for some reason at all of them, had run their stream of fresh water dry. There were only a few bottles of freshwater left. Then what? She didn't know, she didn't care, she just wanted to curl up and fall asleep in her sweet's arms, never to wake up again. She looked out through misty eyes, tears clinging to her eyelashes. Her face felt hot on his clammy neck. Beyond, on the beach, lay a wide expanse of graves. Crosses made from twigs and branches thrust up from the ground. They littered every spot that she could see, appearing as the hands of the dead, reaching up for salvation, only to realize that they were far from saved. The crosses could never reach the sky.

Later that night, she watched him sleep. His face strangely peaceful with streaks of moonlight drifting and dancing across his pale profile. His mouth formed a soft smile, relieved as he slept, parted briefly from the tragedies he and those around him had suffered. He was in his own world now, free from the horror, the death and depression. But he was only sleeping.

One day, the girl, still weak from the harsh labor and harsher conditions on the island, staggered out to the beach. He had woken up later that day and saw her sadly stroking the cross of her baby's grave.

"What's the matter, luv?" he asked hoarsely.

She looked up slowly. "Do me a favor?" she murmured, tears streaking her face once again.

He nodded and swiped her tears away with calloused fingers. "Anything."

"Could you get me more branches?"

He cocked his head, his face puppyish, the way he used to when things were better when they were happy. _Happy_... it was a word that had become alien to her tongue. It was hard to believe that they had ever been _happy_.

"What for?"

She stared back at the tomb. "I'm going to help him reach the sky."

He furrowed his brow. "Who are you talking about, angel?"

Angel.

Sniffling back more tears, she mumbled, "Charles James Littleton Junior."

His eyes widened. "Oh," he muttered. "Right. Branches. Stay put, now. Nice and comfy?" He brushed her golden hair from her eyes, cracking a plastered-on smile. "Be back before you can say 'peanut butter'."

She nodded gently, sighing, rubbing her palm up and down the smoothed wood. He had made that cross special, all pretty and perfectly straight, perfectly tied so that each angle shot out at ninety degrees. And at the intersection of the two pieces was a red rose, simple and sweet.

It had been odd to find a red rose, thornless and hopeful, amid the mass of black, prickly roses. After Locke died, the ebony-colored flowers had created a sable sea that flowed across the edge of the beach, seperating it from the jungle. After her baby had died, the girl wandered through the jungle to examine the roses and, in the very middle, was a bright, blood red rose. Tiptoeing in a catlike manner, being careful not to crush _any_ of the flowers, she leaned over and picked the rose and sniffed it. It smelled pure, absolutely pure.

He fit the rose into the baby's cross. After all, it was quite logical; the baby had been pure, while all the others on the island had at least _some_ darkness in their pasts. They were the black roses. The only innocent of them all had been little Charles Junior. He was the red rose. There was only one red rose. There was only one innocent.

She pondered of the time when she'd be saved. She knew eventually someone would save her, they just had to. She believed they would. So they would. But what would she do when she got back? She'd never face Thomas again, ever, but how could she continue living as she had before? Before any of this had happened? Before she had gotten pregnant... before the horrific crash of Flight 815? Nothing would ever be the same. Nothing-

"_Eeeeeeeeeeeeoooorrrrrrrrrrrr..._"

Suddenly, a booming metallic screech made her jerk her head up.

Then, a cracked voice screamed.

Sapphire-blue eyes wide, sparkling like gems, glittering with tears, the girl whispered tentatively the name of her love. She struggled to her feet. Even without her swollen belly, she found it difficult to get up. Every day it seemed harder. She called his name. "Is that you?" she called louder, rubbing her forearm across her eyes, leaving tearstains across her sleeve.

There was a long pause, then another shriek from the monster. Then a blood-curdling, choked cry from him.

"_HELP MEEEEEEEEE..._"

She ran to the edge of the jungle and halted abruptly. "ARE YOU THERE? ARE YOU STLIL THERE? HOLD ON, I'M COMING!"

There was an eerie silence.

"SWEET?" She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Oh God... PLEASE SAY SOMETHING!" Nothing. "PLEASE!"

Even the tropical birds and whatever else was in there (she had heard from the boy once that there were polar bears, though she had never gotten to see one for herself) was solemnly quiet.

She stepped a foot into the jungle. Just one step. Just one foot. And she heard the frantic, terrified hisses of the dead.

"_One, two, three, four, five..._"

She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. She had to be brave...

"_Rescue cannot come for those with black hearts, for those with black souls... We are **LOST**... We are **LOST**... and no one can help us... it's HIS turn... HE will join us... soon enough... HE WILL BE **LOST**..._"

Her hands pressed hard against the sides of her head, the girl fell to her knees, trembling, but she could still hear Kate's rough voice.

It called her name softly.

"What? WHAT? _WHAT DO YOU WANT!_" Tears streaked her face. She couldn't hear him. Just Kate.

"_We are **LOST**! FIND US! SAVE US!_"

She couldn't do it! She couldn't be brave! She couldn't save _anyone_!

She sprinted back to the caves and curled up under the thickest cotton blanket she could find, tears streaking her grimy face. She tried to imagine the warmth as the boy's arms. Clasping her fingers together, she prayed that he'd come back alive, and soon. He was the only one left for her. No Jack, no Sawyer, no Sayid, no Hurley, no one, not even that annoying Steve (or was it Scott?) man.

That night, she slept with one of the shotguns next to her pillow. Just in case.

-

The next morning, before the sun even rose, she woke and blinked sleepily. She wandered away from the caves back to the beach. The boy was sitting on one of the graves, his dirty-blond hair hanging in his face.

"Don't!" she gasped. It was her baby's grave. "Get off!" She was glad to see him but she immediately forgot this as he pulled the red rose out and crushed it between his long fingers.

He looked up with hollow, gray eyes. He whispered, "Why us?"

Her eyes wide, she made a half-shrug. "W-what are you talking about?" she asked, her brow furrowed, her fists shaking.

Glancing down at the crumpled flower in his palm, he croaked, "Why did _we_ have to live on? Why couldn't _we_ have died, like the others? Why do _we_ have to suffer? They... they're gone..."

"What..."

He shook his head and smiled, his dry lips cracking, his sunburnt skin blanching horribly. "Don't you get it?" he asked in a voice that was almost inaudible. "Don't you understand? They claimed me... long... long... ago." He laughed, quietly at first, then louder and louder until he was in hysterics.

The girl fearfully reached out, whispering his name. "Are you... are you alright? I _don't_ understand... please..."

Suddenly, he leapt up and drew one of Locke's old knives from his belt. He lunged at her with frightening speed. She whirled on her heels just in time, sending him toppling over beside her, his body twisting, doing a sort of somersault, his head sticking out at an odd angle, his neck under obvious pressure. He yelled in frustration mixed with pain and faltered to his feet clumsily, pressing on the back of his neck and stomping his foot angrily, grinding his teeth.

"SNAP OUT OF IT," the girl howled. "IT'S ME! _LISTEN, PLEASE!_ IT'S **ME**!" She got a head start off, running towards the jungle. He tailed her, the pain in his neck either forgotten or ignored. He wouldn't let up. She was weak and tired already, feeling like she couldn't properly breathe. Running wasn't good for a young woman who had recently been pregnant and was very thirsty and hungry, suffering already from malnutrition. The lack of a hunter had run their food supply dangerously low.

Nevertheless she flew off, kicking up white sand, being extremely careful to still run _around_every single grave, no matter how time consuming it was. He didn't bother. So she ran faster, into the jungle, past the caves, pausing for less than a second to snatch up her gun before stumbling on.

She skillfully loaded the weapon, just in case. Living alone on the island without anyone but her and him to protect each other, she had to learn to use a gun. There were only five bullets left. Only five chances. He wasn't slowing.

Her heart jumping into her throat, she felt blood pouding behind her ears, and could hear Kate's soft, stricken whispers become loud screams for mercy, and the girl couldn't block them out. She came to a clearing where the trees were bunched close together. She had no place to escape.

He followed, purposefully stepping into the clearing, frowning in anguish. His eyes were wide and the pupils were extremely dilated, making his eyes appear almost all black.

She brought the gun up stretching her trembling arms out, not bringing quite bringing it up all the way to chest-level. "Please, it's me," the girl whimpered. "Please... stop... before I... before..."

Her finger quivered on the trigger.

He advanced, his face set, the dagger clutched in his white-knuckled fist. She decided that he must've either finally gone crazy or caught the "sickness", that evil disease that they had never found a cure for.

Slowly he raised the knife.

Sobbing uncontrollably, almost blinded by tears, the girl's finger tightened on the trigger.

_BAM BAM BAM._

She shot him three times in the stomach. His pupils jerked back to their regular size and the look of his eyes was suddenly softened, sweetened, turned back to their usual friendly manner. He reeled back and tripped over a thick root. He landed on his back, screaming.

The girl fell to her knees, shaking her head, not wanting to believe it. Not wanting to believe any of it. She wanted to wake up and realize she had only fallen asleep on the plane and had a horrible, terrible, awful nightmare. She wanted to make it to Los Angeles, whether there was or wasn't a couple to take her baby. She wanted the crash to never have happened. But she knew this could never be true.

Crying softly, she brushed her fingertips across the three wounds buried deep in his belly. His screaming slowly quieted and came to a shuddering end. Dark red, almost black blood spotted his lower lip as he coughed.

Still shaking her head, she cupped his face in her bloody, slippery palm. He was suffering.

Two more bullets.

The girl, tears dropping from her eyes onto her love's twitching, groaning form, pressed the muzzle of the gun to his heart.

He looked up, his eyes dull.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "I love you, Charlie."

His breathing ragged, he choked out, "I love you too, Claire."

_BAM._

Only one bullet left.

He fell still, his eyes fluttering shut one last time. And, as the rising, red-yellow sun cast an eerie light onto his pale face, she realized that he didn't look all that different from when he had only been asleep. Except... he'd never wake again.

She kissed his forehead and brought the gun up to her temple. She realized that her salvation had been with her all along.

Only one bullet left.

She'd never wake again... but she knew she'd be alright... After all, she was only sleeping.

_BAM._

**Finis**

**

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Well, reading this over I realized that the whole 'he' and 'she' thing must've been rather annoying after a while. I probably should've just wrote 'Charlie' and 'Claire' but I'm too lazy to go back and change it now. Also sorry for any and all typos... I'm STILL getting used to this whole fanfiction document manager thing... I mean, why does it always erase all punctuation and the little dash thingies? Grr. So, just so you know, there are places where there's supposed to be two question marks for emphasis, and also places where there's supposed to be dash thingies. Like, for the BAM BAM BAM? It's supposed to be BAM dash thingy BAM dash thingy BAM. But when I tried to fix it it just went BAMBAMBAM. Pfft.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! If you leave me a note, even a tiny one, I'll check out your bio and read some of your stories, I promise... Anyways, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!**


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